


Stronger than I've ever been

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Competition, Gen, Internal Monologue, Light Angst, Olympics, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Race To The Edge, Speed Skating, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Yuuri was in second place. Three laps to go, he angled his body and followed behind the skids of the lead. The reigning champion in his eyes was a medalist-contender from Russia. His name? It dawned on Yuuri when he came so close around a corner that his hand could almost reach out and touch one of the long, silvery strands that poked out from under a helmet.Viktor Nikiforov.The name knitted together like a story over Yuuri’s tongue, just enough to distract him before the turn became a straight-away. Viktor lifted his fingertips from the curve on the ice and sprang forward, jetting across the playing field. Not even human when he left Yuuri behind, and Yuuri struggled to catch up. Heart, throbbing against his chest for his energy was well-spent. But when Viktor came around a turn and he glanced momentarily at Yuuri, as if to say he could’ve done better, Yuuri found strength that he knew he didn’t have.





	Stronger than I've ever been

_ There was this fear that no one ever told you when the world had its eyes solely on you. _

No one expected Yuuri to win. No, that wasn’t the right term. Yuuri simply qualified for the  _ Men’s Short Track Finals  _ with barely the skin of his teeth when he crossed the finish line, tied with Seung-Gil of South Korea. Both men, heaving with a leisurely stroll under their skates when they skated comfortably after securing their spots for what mattered the most. Gold had never tasted sweeter upon Yuuri’s lips until he realized how close he was to it. Of the five skaters he would be competing with later this afternoon for the podium, Yuuri felt like the oddball when he compared his story to theirs.

Though he had some titles under his belt, Yuuri came off as an average athlete on a stage where average was a weakness. Some of the best in their respective fields had come together to perform for a live-audience, and Yuuri was so used to playing the tree that he nearly fumbled over his lines when he realized he was an actor. Interviewers came up to him, approached him at the end of the semifinal and asked him how it felt to fight for a podium. Of course, Yuuri didn’t have a response, but his coach, Minako, urged him to respond. Even if it was a little, even if it was just a prediction, or just give his general thoughts.

Even with those guidelines, it was hard to say anything because the world had its eyes on him. Katsuki Yuuri, a promising start for his country to win gold in short track after...what? Years? At least two decades? Though people usually had their eyes on South Korea or China or perhaps, a country blanketed in snow for most of its life, Yuuri sparked a few supporters and bets for Japan after they saw him race for his heat and now, for after his semifinal. There was a fire that blazed behind him in every race so far, and one wouldn’t believe it at first unless they saw the footage. Of how a man in last place took his race by the reigns and climbed his way up to the lead at the lack neck of the battle.

Granted, there was still a long way to go. Yuuri ended his interviews early and retreated to the sidelines to rest, recuperate, and quietly study his competition when  _ Women’s Short Track  _ warmed-up and skated to the edge of the starting line. Poised, hunched over with their traction gloves against the ice or close to their body in a readied stance. The sheen off of their orange shades bounced onto the playing field, illuminating the first few centimeters with a tinge to follow.

When the ladies grew still, the beeper echoed in the distance. The first beep: toes clenched to the bottom of the skates. The second beep: no one heard a single breath because every heart was free to shoot at the trigger. The third beep: skates scraped against the ice in a mad scramble to get to the head of the herd. And when the order was established, everyone filed behind another in a single line and followed the length of the track. Every now and then, one broke out from the herd and surged for the top or fell behind. This was the game they played and knew too well, and this was also their final.

Yuuri bit the tip of his thumbnail as he watched the race, noting how everyone grew a little faster until there were only three laps left. Where easily, the strongest ladies broke ahead and dashed. Hands tucked behind their backs, leaning forward as momentum carried them forward. Barely a moment of breath, hearts throbbing at every second, and then...the victors were always easy to tell.

They were the ones who lifted their bodies, their heads, and their arms and roared when the audience screamed their country’s name. Distinguished by how they skated close to the edge of the rink and slapped their hands against their coach’s, arm knocked back in the progress before the skater cooled off and made it back to the benches. And just like that, Yuuri was in their skates when it was his turn. Hugged by his uniform, black laced with gold and his country’s flag by his collar, Yuuri blinked a few times after adjusting his contacts. He donned his orange shades and buckled his helmet on before skidding across the ice. Trailing his own cursive path onto history when his breath paused at the starting line.

Sandwiched on either side by Christophe Giacometti from Switzerland and Michele Crispino from Italy, Yuuri figured that he was going to be alright. Christophe had a tendency to come first after a mad dash, using his gangly legs to his advantage. Much like a spider sprinting across the calm waters to strike its first kill. Michele was a dark horse without its reigns, charging well-ahead and built himself a strong start before gradually slowing down until he wasn’t a threat anymore. Yuuri kept these observations in mind when the last few skaters came to the starting line.

Like Emil Nekola from the Czech Republic. A fresh start, a new face in the Olympic world. He had as much fun as the audience, never missed a smile on his face because he was at the thrill of his life. Accompanied to his right was Seung-Gil, also a newcomer to the playing field. However, he made up for it with cool determination and his dead-sprints on the last few laps. Something to worry about it, considering that Yuuri used the same tactic as well. And then, the last one to the line but the first one to spike the whistles from the audience, was Viktor Nikiforov from Russia. Behind Seung-Gil, Viktor was another contender for the gold medal. Having two silvers under his name already, the third time was the charm for his first taste of gold.

But then again, he had a similar taste a while back when he steadied himself and his glance happened to cross Yuuri’s. An innocent smile on his part, perhaps he had forgotten that Yuuri was a competitor. Or perhaps, there was a bittersweet feeling knowing that he had to fight with the man he loved. Yuuri, too, had a similar thought, but he buried it below the surface. Off the ice, he and Viktor were often joined at the hip when it came to soft matters like warming up before an outing or cuddling away from pondering eyes. But here on the ice, when breaths coiled up like bitter smoke, Yuuri regarded Viktor as a stranger. As they should be because a gold medal couldn’t distinguish between lovers, friendly competition, or enemies with a bone to pick with one another.

But, no one had a bone to pick. They each had skates, but that would be an illegal move. Oh, the race was about to start.

_ There was a moment where I thought: ‘I should just quit.’ _

First beep: suddenly shy, Yuuri dropped his hand onto the ice to steady himself. Second beep: he leaned forward, his body angled to such a degree that it reminded him of the chickens that used to roam along the beaches of Hasetsu.

A whistle. The beeps had to restart. Yuuri wasn’t still, arm trembling when he kept his balance on the ice. Yuuri raised his body and shook his arms, trying to feel numb. Breathing harder than usual, unease creeping up his throat. Why now, of all times?

_ “Remember who you’re skating for.” _

The voice, a mere whisper from Viktor’s lips. It sounded like encouragement for everyone, but the statement was directed to one person. And that person steadied his breathing and leaned down into his starting position. Yuuri wiped his cheeks with the back of his sleeves, a pit of worry gurgling away in his stomach. Who was he skating for? Yuuri thought about his family, his friends, his coach, his country...Hundreds of thoughts clouded his mind when the beeps started again.

The first beep: Emil had one of the brightest smiles on the starting line. The second beep: Michele’s legs felt so heavy, even though he barely moved. The third beep: Christophe sprinted to the front of the pack like a slingshot.

Michele followed from behind, cursing himself for his fraction of a delay. Viktor kept a safe distance, not too far and not too close. Quite leisurely, despite the speed. Seung-Gil was steady, hunched over and calculated the rest of the race in his mind. Emil and Yuuri fought for last place. Sometimes, Yuuri poked ahead. Sometimes, Emil felt an urge to sprint. However, Seung-Gil kept them both in check and wouldn’t let them advance. One lap down, and Yuuri could barely control his breathing when the head of the herd advanced steadily.

_ But if you knock me down, I’ll get up again. _

Three laps in, there was a crash. Michele grew a bit too ambitious when he rounded a corner and overtook Christophe. He lost traction and knocked his shoulder against the ice. Christophe couldn’t swerve out of the way in time, knocked towards the edge of the rink by Michele’s wayward legs. Viktor passed over the collision and took charge as the pack leader. Yuuri and Emil took their chances and shot past Seung-Gil’s defenses. Scraping every inch of the ice with their lives on the line, nearly fumbling on the straight-away when they scrambled behind Viktor’s trail. Seung-Gil, right at their tails. Nipping away at their skates, and Yuuri plowed forward with every bit of a stamina that he saved. Just for this moment. His fingertips trailed over a curve when he closed the gap between him and Viktor, barely six inches in between them when the rest of the world fell below their skates.

An echo.

_ I realized who I was skating for. Or rather, who I wanted to skate with. _

Three laps left to go, Viktor lengthened the distance between him and Yuuri. He turned his head back, ever-so slightly. Encouragement brimmed behind his eyes, but Yuuri couldn’t see it from where he was. If he wanted to, he’d have to catch up. And there, that was when Yuuri’s thighs burned and his back ached like an old machine. What could he do? All of his stamina was well-spent as it was and yet, Viktor held onto the belief that Yuuri could still sprint. One last time. This was their last race together, just before Viktor’s inevitable retirement. Make this memorable but how?

Perhaps, give Viktor a run for his money in gold. Yuuri leaned forward, stepping up his game and as he gradually closed the gap between him and Viktor. Viktor had only one speed left, and it was more of a direction at this point because he continued to go forward as Yuuri crawled up from second to one and a half. At each other’s necks when three laps turned to two, two laps turned to the final. Yuuri loosened his hands from behind his back, swayed his body into a manageable rhythm, before all one could hear from him were the intrepid steps left behind by his skates. Viktor almost had no choice but to run. Bits of his bangs slipped out from under his helmet, clung to the sides of his face in the momentum. The sudden swing that brought the finish line a lot closer than either could imagine. And then, silver turned to gold just as quickly as it came out from the back end of brozen’s forgotten cousin.


End file.
